#(he doesn't explode but he does die)

[earthlyruins]

seeing people mischaracterize sanji will forever boil my blood but seeing people mischaracterize LUFFY and say that he only has sanji on his crew because he can cook actually has me wanting to kill someone HOW can you be that stupid. no genuinely how

[featuresofinterest]

i'm so convinced past devil's minion happened in the show i really need to make a big post that explains all my theories.....

[theravequeen]

Ranted about this guy to my discord server but they got distracted---so Tumblr gets to hear about it instead.

Yeah he's my Dr. Strange dragon.

'Short' rundown on his lore: (A TW FOR DEATH!)

When he was little, his father left and his mother died. (Sounds like the beginning of hamilton----) leaving him with just his older brother and little sister. (Older brother currently unnamed, little sister is named Mirrordawn.)

Soon enough, his older brother dissapeared, presumed to be dead, so Strangesight was left to take care of Mirrordawn.

Eventually, he was found by a night/silkwing by the name of Runeweaver (image below)

She takes him and his sister to a large palace carved into the uncharted mountains past the sky kingdom.

There he meets a dragon known only as The Ancient One. The Ancient One (just TAO from here on out) tells Strangesight that this is a school of magic, for gifted animus dragons to learn how to control and maintain their magic.

Runeweaver and TAO quickly take Strangesight under their wings as an apprentice, Mirrordawn being watched over by some of the caretakers of the school.

One day, Strangesight, Mirrordawn, and a few other dragonets were playing outside on a frozen lake, when suddenly the ice breaks and Mirrordawn falls through. After a sickening few seconds, a young icewing dives in after her and pulls her out, but she already looks worse for wear. The other dragonets sort of leave one by one, leaving Strangesight with Mirrordawn.

Someone must've told TAO, because he shows up. Strangesight begs for TAO to heal Mirrordawn, but TAO refuses, telling Strangesight that if he uses his animus magic to heal Mirrordawn, she will become corrupted and evil, and eventually the magic will rot her away.

To Strangesight's horror and despair, he is forced to let Mirrordawn die.

After the funeral, Strangesight spends a lot of time in the healer's cave, learning all he ever can to save any other dragon before the only options are animus magic or death.

I haven't decided if this happens before or after Mirrordawn's death yet, but at some point, TAO and Runeweaver get in a huge fight, both accusing each other of being a traitor to the school. It ends with TAO killing Runeweaver right in front of Strangesight.

He assures Strangesight that Runeweaver was trying to steal magic for herself, a sure sign of a dark and evil dragon.

Still young, still naive, Strangesight believes TAO, and leaves runeweaver's body, a sickening feeling settling in his heart and stomach.

Years later, Strangesight perfects his magic and becomes TAO's top student and a great doctor.

Eventually he does find out about all of TAO's lies and deceptions, but I think that's best saved for a different post, if this one gets attention :3c

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

one of these days i'll write up a post about the parallels and foils between vivi and hermes and why it fucking kills me. for now all i can say is in hindsight the 'latched onto vivi Hard as a kid' to 'latched onto hermes Hard as an adult' pipeline is Real

[hauntingblue]

LUFFY!!!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN CONVERTED!!!! LUFFY BELIEVER FULL TIME!!!!! LET US WORSHIP THE SUN!!!!

[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 

[acid-ixx]

brutus: the only fucked up thing in the world is you

— masterlist !

let me pitch in another idea before i forget about it, but picture this: a oneshot (or mini-series) based off of "ma meilleure ennemie" where it's platonic yandere batfam x brutus! reader (inspired by jinx in arcane though) x yandere! conner kent. don't mind this at all, i'm trying to flesh out the reader's past in a shorter post 😭

you guys get the general gist. you get adopted by bruce wayne, neglected by the same father all throughout, hurt yet desperate to please your family. though instead of giving up and moving out; you take it in yourself to try to become a vigilante like them, without bruce's supervision you'd be out at night in your stupid costume and determine smile—

fighting crime with an (unsure) grin like your idol, nightwing, in gotham of all places.

in your measly trial of becoming a hero, you fuck up and nearly die at your first try by a criminal attempting to gun you down, if not for the familiar face of tim's best friend, a man you occasionally find yourself staring in awe at every time he visits.

you meet superboy face to face, he charms and saves you from nearly dying. it is him who helps and supports you with your journey, and for the first time in a while you feel seen.

not by your family, not by the vigilantes you idolize— but by the same hero seen as only a mere clone by most.

you quickly fall in love with him, he does so too. that's how your typical romance with the hero goes. it's through his willingness to always assure you that he's yours and that you'll never be alone with him that you dismiss the ache in your chest at another day being ignored by your family, by the flutter in your heart at how you met the one.

he kisses you like you mean the world, he holds your hand every time the doubt becomes too much, it's him who swipes your hair away from your sweaty forehead and tear-stained cheeks, just to let you nuzzle into his leather jacket; to feel and melt into warmth of his blazing chest.

and through it all, you're unaware of just how much he truly loves you from the start, how his heart beats for you and only you.

then one night, in a time where you're without your boyfriend who was in a mission in another dimension, is when you finally see them, your family, huddled together in one of the corners of the alleyway, struggling with a particular fight, that you decide it's high time that you disrupt the flow and help.

you try so, with one of your handmade weapons, but instead of it exploding successfully, out of reach in your family's perimeters, it inadvertently causes the buildings in the alleyway to collapse with its impact. it kills not only the criminals they're fighting, but countless of civilians in the process, and you're the perpetrator of it all.

... standing in front of the mess you made, blood on your makeshift combat boots. you always make a mess of things, that's why you don't belong, that's why you nearly died at your first night if not for your boyfriend saving you. and now, under the cast of the moonlight—

you're the villain in their eyes.

they don't even acknowledge how you share the same glinting orbs of the ghost that always stares at each and every one of them sullenly. they don't notice the familiar shadow your hair casts, or how you're shaking and silent all throughout the entire scene.

... as if it's the first time you bare witness to such a gruesome sight of gore and scattered flesh.

they don't see that, they don't see you, as always.

all they see is red.

red that stains at the crown of your head, all throughout the soles of your shoes.

bruce doesn't hesitate to beat you black and blue once he gets his hands on you, uncaring for the loud wails (he doesn't know you're crying for the people you killed...) and tiny whimpers that escape your throat, the others don't even pull him back, watching the scene unfold like they're mere bystanders rather than... heroes who could've saved you.

and just when you're about to make a run with one of the openings, he rips at your clumsily disguised mask and comes face to face with you, hoping that he finally sees his child.

but he doesn't flinch back, he doesn't even recognize you, let alone how young and naive you truly are to the cruelty of the world. he sees a monster, he doesn't hear you call him 'father' the meek apologies, or the sorry way your hand braces itself on the merciless impacts on your face.

only for your nose to crack and drip with blood either way, for your eyes to bruise into disgusting shades of purples, blues and yellows, until you're a mess of pierced, delicate skin and impalpable flesh.

you want to die the harder you feel your bones crack under the pressure, you want to die, even when someone finally ripped him out of his clutches and you, and when you had released another one of your smoke bombs that was actually miscalculated toxic fumes, forcing your legs to carry you to your vehicle, adrenaline consuming your entire being despite the tears and the pain that wreck at your body.

ever since then, you've run away. to a world unknown, a city you couldn't recognize, broken heart, broken dreams, broken body. every part of you feels broken.

you couldn't even confront conner in fear that tim has already told him of your situation, you break up with him through a burner phone and change your entire appearance afterwards in fear of being recognized by the very same people who destroyed your life. you try to overcorrect by wearing the opposite of what your vigilante persona wore. you want a fresh new start, a new lease on life.

you still want to be a hero like them.

yet there's a small voice in your head telling you violent thoughts that turn into harsh screaming, criticism, insults, yells at your pathetic being.

they rip and mock at you, the voices of the damned in that wretched day became silhouettes, your tormentors who grate at your ears every time you try to sleep in your molded bed in some shitty apartment in a shitty new city. they tell you it's your fault — it is, god, everything is your fault...! — you're nothing but a worthless mistake if it meant the bat was willing enough to nearly break his moral code just to teach you a leasson.

but you're not only a mistake, but also a monster who killed people too.

suddenly, it's hatred that dictates your actions and not misdirected hope. suddenly, the line between self-hatred and the burning jealousy at how easy it was for bruce to forgive his other children's mistakes as compared to yours; it all blurs into one intangible urge to hurt once more.

the longer the voices went on, the longer you stared at the twisting shadows and were condemned to paralysis in a rotting bed to repeat that scene of carnage over and over again— the more your head feels like it's splitting apart at the seams and you forget what love, what forgiveness, what grace feels like.

suddenly, you're adopted by a villain in one of your nightly escapades.

he knows of your crimes, of your misery and struggles, and he wants to transform you into his perfect sidekick, an easily manipulated puppet in the ruse of his crimes: you let him, you've nothing worth losing for anyways.

no family, no lover, nothing worth fighting for.

you're trained mercilessly, you wear a new face that speaks of only violence and havoc brought upon the plains of every known existing thing. you learn what it's like to let go, to only cherish people who find a use in you, who reward you through your attempts. if it means causing blood and pain to the world for praise, in a man who's willing to not condemn you but ro applaud you instead.

and all throughout, you slowly start to forget about conner kent, superboy, your first love, your only one. either by the hidden shame that torments your thoughts of what your ex-boyfriend would've seen in you, or the genuine thrill of the chase from policemen ready to gun down the new threat, you.

you forget what his touch feels like, the ghost of his fingertips pressing against your waist, his featherlight kisses on your shoulders, the texture of his jacket that wraps around your body like a hug, his raven hair tangled on your fingers, and even the feel and taste of his tongue on your mouth.

every intimate moment with him is replaced by the thirst for vengeance, by the still growing need to satisfy your new mentor, just to satiate the looming parts in the back of your head wishing for a semblance of a family member loving you back.

everything was fine, it was normal and you felt the sense of twisted love and satisfaction. you could live in this moment forever, but even villains accustomed to chaos need a new change of pace—

or rather, to relive what has triggered them to become who they are now.

so it's only when you step foot in gotham, yet again, to bring true carnage into the wretched city, with enough of your protege's convincing despite the concealed fear in the corner of your eyes, that you begin to fuck up even once more.

a/n: this is shit like dumpster fire trash conpared to my other works, and it's really short too uhm, but i need to establish smth in my drabbles because i'm prone to forgetting things a lot, courtesy of my dissociative amnesia LMAO. idk half of what i wrote, i speedran it, added tags and pictures and i already forgot about what i wrote. but this is just the flow of it all so i might cringe at this once i reread it tomorrow and possibly even delete this thing if i hate it enough. hope u guys enjoy this before it might go in the dumpster 😭

[strawberrygyuuuu]

𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 —> 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 / 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓

Genre —> Fluff

—> how they'd react to their s/o holding the hem of their sleeve / shirt.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

YEONJUN

• will actually explode

• who said you could be this fucking cute? Huh?

• I actually believe this man does the day you start doing this and continues to die every single time

• his heart just melts for you okay?

• I think he tries to contain his feelings but you're just so cute he can't help but to show it

• like he'll literally look at you in that fond lovesick way with a dumb little smile on his face

• maybe a little blushy as well

• because to him it's like you feel safe with him so you're holding onto him so you don't get lost in especially big crowds

• hold onto him for as long as you want, he thrives for it...it's a bit of an ego boost as well lol

SOOBIN

• he'll think sum is wrong at first

• he'll look at you and scan your face to see if there's any distress or discomfort or anything

• but once he sees you're okay and just hanging onto him Soobin will smile his cute lil dimple smile

• little sparkles in his eyes because you're adorable wtf dude !!!!

• "you're okay?"

• you just smile and nod at him, "mhm!"

• I think he adores your habit because it's you and he adores you

• sometimes I think he'll gently take your hand and replace it with his so yours are intertwined with his

• idk man he might die from heart attack tho cause how cute you are

• so be careful pooks ‼️

BEOMGYU

• when he's in a playful mood he'll make a big deal out of it

• "hmmm??? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

• "you love me THAT much? Woah!"

• he giggles but he is slightly worried

• but when he's not, it's either he doesn't say anything and just has this smug look on his face

• or he'll look at you to make sure you're alright and pull you closer to him but that's more in way too crowded areas

• idk it's like a dice roll lol

• you might get a smug reaction, a concern reaction or he'll tease you

• but he does care I swear

• it also makes him feel proud because like...you feel safe with him and he can protect you

• he's so in love with you girlie

TAEHYUN

• once y'all are more comfortable in the relationship he'll learn to enjoy it

• he has boundaries and although he does love you vv much those are still in place

• but when you did it it was more out of instinct

• tae def looks at you, then your hand, back at you before smiling fondly

• just a small smile

• "everything good, Hun?" GHFF PLS I NEED HIM🙏🏻

• when you confirm you're alright, he figured you were js anxious or to not lose him or sum

• lets you be, but will tease you sometimes

• only because he thinks it's endearing

• he trusts you when you tell him that you're fine so he doesn't push or anything

• fosho wants you to do it more often, if you ask if it annoys him he'll simply shake his head and tell you it doesn't, because it really doesn't

• probably encourages you to keep doing it tbh

• idk pooks

• you're endearing to him

HUENINGKAI

• is soo blushy and shy it's cute

• you're cute

• like omfg???

• he adores you sm n I genuinely think he'd love when you do this little habit of yours

• he snickers and smiles so wide

• boy is ear to ear smiling he's so happy n in love 😭🙏🏻

• probably tried to be normal about it and not make too big of a deal about it but you can tell he's over the moon

• because again, it's like,, you trust him ??

• ARUGH he can't take it pooks

• when y'all get back to the dorms or your apartment or sum he'll be squishing your cheeks

• rubbing his cheek against yours squealing about how cutie you are

• full on fanboy

• but I can also see him silently being happy about it

• and maybe probably possibly tease you later on just to poke fun

• but nothing serious; please keep doing this !

[petalsonmoon]

you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon.

"it's ridiculous." then he leaned his body foward, his fingers meeting his toes. an elongation you would take embarrasingly months to be able to do that flawlessly.

"and really fucking stupid" he proceeds his thoughts.

"oh please, do go on." you look down to your notes and continue to write your ridiculous ideas.

the sun was far too bright and where its glow met the leaves of the large number of trees around you they were gleaming, like they were immensely happy.

"i hope your little notebook accidently burns to ashes."

"kind of you to say accidently."

"yeah no problem at all"

you glance up to find that he has his knee bended to his chest and quickly look back to the pen in your hand. quite misteriously your hands are stained from it.

"you making the walking sleeping bag one too?" his voice is raspy and angry and very clear. how does he sound so good while doing post training stretching?

perhaps you're looking too much into it. your crush makes you a bit giddy, idiotic in a lot of senses. makes you feel a child just like the word itself is infant. crush.

you sigh heavyly.

"still deciding" you draw a little explosion on the corner of the page.

"might as well do it for class b too."

"if i got a penny for every dramatic sentence that came out of your mouth-"

he had his back to you but he insisted on turning his head to you to send you the most chilling glare for exactly 3 seconds. that's his stupidity. his eyes were already too pretty in your eyes for you to feel an ounce of that anger.

"-only today i'd have like," you scrunch your nose "the amount of money equivalent to the ferocity of all might's powers."

he doesn't bother to look at you again and you smile.

"would you look at that. i should look for the person with this quirk."

he growls. loud. and you're smile is genuine.

he sits up straight, his back to you and starts leisurely move his neck. that's the sign he's almost done.

"putting too much money for those idiots.”

"it's not that much" you reason. "don't feel that way for too long, you're getting one too."

with that, it's over.

he turns to you and when those red eyes meet yours the trees are for sure shinning somewhat brighter.

the response for your affirmation it's a furrow between his eyebrows. his skin glowing a bit but that's not your absurd heart speaking, it's just his sweat.

"uhum" now you're messing with the grass. it estabilizes you. "yours is actually the only one that i drew and painted myself. the other ones i made with suna from the support course"

an ant crawled into your point finger.

"but don't tell them that." you whisper.

the ant made it to your pulse when you feel a literal body falling on top of you.

"you motherfucker! you are drenched-"

"that shitty little brain of yours-" his face on your neck. his words and breathing warming your whole body. you are exploding on the inside. how ironic.

"-and your stupid handmade keychains for the whole class" and then he lighly bites where your neck meets your shoulder.

his hands trails your arms, his fingers are burning pathways in your skin until they meet your hands and they interlock with your fingers. then he finally lifts his head and looks at you and what you're feeling is something words can't understand.

"i was gonna wait until graduation."

"tomorrow, you mean."

he bites your chin and you're so fucking certain you'll melt any second now. "because of that fucking tone i'm going to burn all of your little gifts."

you smile at him trying to match his damn audacity. his charm? his mind blowing handsomeness? "i'll murder you."

you blink and feel his breath on your neck again. "do it now, cupcake." then. his maddening warm and soft lips leaves a kiss under your earlobe. you close your eyes. "you have the power to."

"don't wait until tomorrow."

he lifts his head again and there's a smirk with a softness in the corner of it on his face. "or?"

"i might die." you whisper. it is serious to you. you need his lips on yours this very second. with his eyes on yours, telling you every adoration you thought about him for the last couple of months before going to bed, you think might. actually. die.

"who's the dramatic one now, brat?"

[i-am-an-omniscient-snail]

Dark Percy this, dark Jason that. Have you even LOOKED at Nico???

He survived Tartarus. ALONE. A place that Percy would never have made it through without Annabeth, a place that pushed him to the limits of his powers and morals. Let me repeat that. TARTARUS. Percy only glimpsed the horrors of that place, and he said it would have driven him insane. The strength of mind and will that journey must have taken, nevermind the power, should mark him out immediately.

When he gets mad, darkness pours from the ground around his feet. Skeletons and ghosts rise up around him. I've seen people talk about Percy exploding toilets, but that was when he was younger and had less control. Nico is so powerful that that happens when he's exhausted and upset. Plants around him wither and die when he doesn't actively prevent his power from overflowing. The potential for destruction in that is UNFATHOMABLE and he thinks nothing of it! NO ONE does!!

He commands ghosts and spirits and zombies, serves Hades, travels through Tartarus, shadow travels (the amount of strength his journey with Reyna must have taken??? Insane) all through the books. I honestly think he is even more overpowered than Percy, it just is ignored. He's not built up as anything more than an edgy loner, but he's damn powerful. A child of the Big Three. A son of HADES.

And this is his normal. We haven't seen his journey through Tartarus. We don't know what his Akhlys was. We can only guess at how destructive and powerful it was, because what we see is Nico as he is normally, not dark Nico.

Dark Nico would be terrifying.

[devilfic]

❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

[theonlyhonoredone]

Yuji BF Headcanons

Pairing: Yuji Itadori x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: my idea of how Yuji is as a partner

Masterlist

bf!Yuji is crushing hard, he’s down so bad it’s actually pathetic. He fumbles his words in front of you, stutters when he tries to compliment you, and is the first to like any and everything you post. He thinks you��re the funniest person alive and sticks to you like velcro. He’s always asking if you want to hang out or train or anything else he can do to get you in the same room as him. He waits for the absolute perfect opportunity to ask you out, either taking you to some big festival or saving up for months to take you to some fancy restaurant.

bf!Yuji who fakes being totally confident when he asks and then freaks out when you say yes. He’s gasping and asking if you really mean it and then hugging you so tight you almost pass out. Things fall into place quickly after that, you two are a natural fit.

bf!Yuji always keeps you on your toes. He likes for dates to be really special and exciting so he always wants to do something grand. He won't admit it to you, but he knows he's going to die young. He's living on an extended death sentence which means he won't get the long happy life he truly wants with you. He hopes to create as many special and lasting memories with you as he can, hoping that he'll be able to relive them on his death bed and you'll be able to find comfort in them when he's gone.

bf!Yuji does not consider nights in or casual hang outs as dates because they aren't special enough. That doesn't mean he loves those moments any less though, in fact nights in with you are one of his favorite things on earth. The man is glued to you 24/7 so of course he’s excited for any chance to cuddle. He needs every part of his body to touch every part of yours, he’ll smother you any chance he gets. If you have to get up to pee or anything really he’s whining and asking you to stay. He gives you the sad puppy eyes whenever you escape from his arms and pouts until you return to him.

bf!Yuji uses his crazy athletic ability to show off to you any chance he can get. He’s always telling you to watch him do something he's sure you'll find impressive. He'll offer to carry you everywhere you go. He gets butterflies every time you call him strong or tell him how cool he is. If you go to an arcade he will drag you over to every game that involves any amount of athletic ability and make you watch him set a new high score. You always love it, except for the time he broke a machine and got you kicked out.

bf!Yuji is constantly coming up with new pet names for you. They are sometimes sweet but more often over the top and totally ridiculous. He’s constantly changing your name in his phone too, and he spends hours editing pictures of you to make your profile picture. He likes adding all sorts of little stickers and drawing little hearts around your face.

bf!Yuji also loves to post these and add a long caption calling you his little schmoopy schnookums pie while he declares his undying love for you. His over the top gestures are how he shows you that you’re always on his mind. He doesn’t care if anyone else thinks it’s embarrassing or cringy, he just cares that you know how much he loves you. He loves you so much that he sometimes feels like he might explode if he doesn’t express it. 

bf!Yuji is clingy to the point of annoyance. You do have to remind him that you need space and time alone and while he might not understand (he wants to spend every moment with you), he respects your needs and wants. He wants you to be happy all the time and if that means leaving you alone for a few hours then he will.

bf!Yuji tries his best to let the two of you have quiet moments together too. Even though he is a yapper at heart, he manages to sit for hours without saying a word, sometimes. As time goes on he starts to treasure these moments and find a lot of comfort in just sitting beside you, not talking about anything. It’s enough just knowing you're right there with him.

bf!Yuji is not the kind of person to get insecure. He's more nervous in the begging of your relationship, but once you tell him you love him the first time that flies out the window. You love him and he loves you and to him that’s enough to know things will always work out.

bf!Yuji gets incredibly anxious anytime he has to buy you a gift. Birthdays and holidays are a nightmare for him. He never knows what to get you and will spend hours pacing around countless stores to find the perfect gift. He tries to remind himself that it’s the thought that counts and that you’re always happy with what he gets you, but it never settles his nerves. He’ll second guess himself until the moment he hands the gift over. Watching your lips curl up into a big smile as you open it up is what finally makes him relax.

bf!Yuji is never possessive and almost never jealous. The only thing that really makes him jealous is when you go to the movies without him. It doesn’t matter who you’re going with either, he's jealous. He loves the movies and he loves you so of course he loves going to the movies with you. He’ll never admit he's jealous, but he’ll definitely pout and tell you how much how much he wanted to see the film. Of course you can see right through him and will always offer to go see it again with him. That always brings him back to his usual chipper self. 

bf!Yuji turns into the biggest baby when he gets sick. The common cold is a death sentence as far as he is concerned. The only possible cure is you feeding him soup and rubbing his back. He will beg for snuggles and kisses but dramatically tell you not to come near him so you can’t catch whatever deadly virus he has when you actually try. As soon as he’s better though he’s expecting you to help him make up for lost time by letting him smother you to his heart's content. 

bf!Yuji will do literally anything for you. He’d figure out how to rearrange the planets if that was what you wanted, and he'd do it with a smile. If you need help with anything at all he wants to be your first call. You want to redecorate your room? Call Yuji. You want a late night snack? Call Yuji. You want to rob a bank? Call Yuji. He's the definition of ride or die and he never lets you forget how treasured you are.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

RagaPom fan kid when🥺?

Jk but I ADORE your art so much i might as well be called a believer of it 🙇‍♀️

Harlequin!Jesterdoll fankid - Anya!

I gotchu homie I should probably also clarify that the fankids aren't canon-

This is Anya, or Aanya Belle. She is Pomni and Ragatha's child, and is the second child puppet to ever grace the world. Quite possibly the most emotional one too, earning her the title "Little Sensitive Poppet". She's sweet and empathetic like Ragatha, but she doesn't have a temper. She instead inherited her harlequin mom's intense emotional reaction, but for other emotions. Her classification is a Mannequin.

She gets scared quite easily and ends up crying for hours, which made Jax give up a teddy bear he had been keeping near and dear to him. Aanya has been never seen without the teddy bear ever since.

Yes, to everyone's surprise, Jax is good with kids.

She has the largest sense of empathy out of anyone, a trait clearly inherited from Ragatha. So much so to the point that she's willing to abandon her "safety spot" (which is any furniture she can hide behind) and comfort you with her teddy bear if she so much as senses you're upset.

Her relationship with her half-brother was a little rocky at the start; Cade was overexcited over the idea of a new playmate (that wasn't Bubble) and kept wanting to bite her fingers off, and so had to be kept in his favorite box to calm him down, and make him get used to his new half-sister's presence. Soon enough, he learned to get along, and eventually, their sibling bond strengthened.

Cade would hug Anya if he notices that she's distressed (which is something that my irl baby brother does and I used it as inspo here) and would not hesitate to step in the big brother role to protect her if there's a threat.

He also attends her miniature tea parties, although for some reason he likes to stay in his box when the tea party commences. He never touches the teddy bear either, and even seems to want to avoid to touch it. Pomni thinks it's because he doesn't wanna end up ruining it.

When Cade turned six months, Ragatha started avoiding Caine, which made the puppetmaster confused. There were no more invites to tea parties, no more friendly talks, and no longer did Ragatha ask Caine if he had another vinyl she could listen to. All the more, Pomni looked extremely guilty everytime they would talk, and looked like she really wanted to tell Caine something.

Caine didn't prod at the girls' relationship, since he knows it's not exactly his concern/nor is it his business. But when one day that Pomni came rushing in to his office for help because Ragatha collapsed in pain, Caine wasted no time rushing to her aid.

Once all symptoms were described to him, he immediately managed to connect the dots that Ragatha's die was also housing two souls, and that it went on for so long, it was already starting to kill her off FOR GOOD. When the puppetmaster asked why she had kept it a secret, Ragatha admitted that she felt guilty; Cade was already in this world and that she had no right to have a child with Pomni, yet here it was.

Caine was immensely disappointed, but not because of the little soul's existence. Instead, he was upset that Ragatha would rather risk her very own life for something so non-trivial, and that the doll was freaking out over nothing. After an intense and dangerous procedure since the incomplete soul's grip onto Ragatha was stronger than Cade's was, Caine managed to extract and transfer the soul, but Ragatha remained unconscious for three moons because of the exertion it took.

He told Pomni to keep the die for now, and wait until Ragatha wakes up, so they can both decide whether they want to keep the little one or not. Pomni, guilt-ridden, questions why he's remained calm, and not exploded over the fact that she and Ragatha created a new existence without his permission, and Caine simply replies "Whoever told you that you both needed my blessing for it, needs their heads bashed in"

Eventually, Ragatha wakes up and apologizes to Caine for giving him so much trouble. The puppetmaster is quick to comfort the mannequin, and that he's relieved that Ragatha survived. He then reassures both Puppets that they didn't have to keep secrets like this from him out of shame, since their polyamory relationship was consensual from both parties in the first place. After a reconciliation, Caine asked the question: Will they keep the soul, or not?

They chose to keep it. And in only a few months thanks to Caine's prior knowledge, Anya was officially welcomed into the world.

[braisedhoney]

every single line of this is (and i mean this as literally as possible) the most in-character thing anyone has ever made for my old man son. i'm serious. he would say, and DO, ALL OF THAT.

more screaming in tags but just. canon. i declare the reaction, his lie, his glasses comment, his buzz cut misunderstanding enthusiasm... all of it, canon. even outside the brothers au he would do that. he would pretend to go along with it just to do it.

✨BROTHER NARRYS✨

(Or Narry Brothers I dunno)

Mentions: @braisedhoney and @beartitled!

Check out their personal posts about them too! ☝️

How it happened!:

(Reference to this post, the origin!)

Ney’s Narry had worse things to tell. One of them included bleach.

Extras!:

I wonder if you guys can tell when my hand started dying… 💀

[appleblueberry-pie]

I just read through all your 42 Miles posts and I am going to explode. I swear, I’m so obsessed he looks shy in comparison. On that note, what if the reader finds out about his yandere behavior…and is perfectly fine with it. Maybe they even encourage it, giggling like a schoolgirl when they catch him following them home and giving him extra kisses when he tells them how he killed the guy who flirted with them. Definitely not just describing myself here-

I LIKE IT. JUST A LITTLE BIT<3

Miles gets greedy when it comes to you. He shouldn't, but he just hates sharing. So, using the tools he has, he gets rid of all possible competition. It's dangerous, it's reckless, and it's not smart to do, but you make him do stupid, dangerous and reckless things. Can you blame him? You're everything he's ever asked for in a girl.

So sweet to him, giving him all of your attention whenever you can. Texting him often, reciprocating his energy and letting him give the love and energy he feels you deserve. And you deserve every drop of his energy.

But sometimes, he takes it too far. He's been mean-mugging everyone lately. His friends don't like him as much because they say he's been paranoid over 'some random bitch he be talkin to'. And he doesn't let things like talking behind his back, or yours, be taken lightly. Which is why they don't talk to him the next day, or the day after that.

And it's also why people don't talk to you anymore either. Or any of your male friends. Or your girl friends.....he drove them all away. Every time someone sees you, he's not too far behind. And you don't do a damn thing about it. Which causes rumors to spread, but they die as quickly as they fire up. Because he always finds the source before shit goes south. Still, you don't do a damn thing about it.

You don't necessarily encourage him to do it, but he always gets the same amount of love from you whether he gives hell to everyone else or not. So, he keeps doing it. If he wants all of you, he's going to have all of you.

If someone asks about you in a crooked tone, he gets iffy about it, and now they scared. If someone mentions your name, their feeling that sharp stare on the back of their neck, telling them to let their tongue slip one more time. Everyone's getting the hint and he'll make sure of it.

You always smile looking back at him when he follows you in the hallways or when he's following you home.

You let him give you overly-obsessive notes in your locker. You let him like all of your stories, all of your posts. You let him stalk every single one of your socials and even the ones no one is supposed to know abut. You let him blow up your phone.

When he finally has the courage to talk to your face, you two have been by each other's side like glue. You let him whisper in your ear when he doesn't want a damn soul to hear what you guys are talking about. You let him buy you lunch every day. He always holds your hand tight as shit when walking you to class. He can be a little late. He does almost everything for you. He's real good at helping you with homework(and getting rid of niggas that bother you), and it makes your stress load so much lighter.

He's such good boyfriend material.

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday requests

i wouldn't mind more royal consort if you're willing to write it

just sent a request for royal consort as anon

There was panic all around the room, but Danny couldn't focus on anything for too long with all his senses so overwhelmed. He was suspended in the air, power rolling through and over him in busts of electricity. He can feel himself being ripped apart, rearranged, and placed back in the same way he had been when he was fourteen, but this time, the feeling is prolonged.

The portal does so again and again and again until Danny can't tell what he is anymore. Oddly enough, it's relatively peaceful. There had been no ripping pain when his necklace and portal transmitter had connected, but there had been an overwhelming sense of cold.

It was as if Danny had been plunged into iced water, spreading across his body like a tidal wave. Danny would have almost relaxed into the portal's form if it wasn't for the pins and needles that followed each wave.

Maybe it was worse for Jaz, who was fully human when they did this to her, but Danny had Phantom to fall back on. In more ways than one, given the army his future self has summoned and the insane amount of killing intent that Phantom was broadcasting.

If he could pick up on it from within this ball of semi-consciousness, he bet everyone else was likely drowning in Phantom's rage.

The dead knights fling themselves towards the portal with gusto, slamming their swords and bodies against the force field. Each strict flung Danny further from reality, drawing them back into the welcoming void of numbness, only to be ripped back by another cold wave.

"Danny, focus!" Phantom voice boomed. "You have become the key! Close the damn portal!"

Danny blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the words mean, until a bolt of lightning zaps out of his fingertips, twisting into the outer layer of the portal. It's then he knows the horrible truth.

The world's end is coming, and Danny is the cause of it. The portal makes a strange zapping sound before it starts stabilizing and expanding. The first large ship was passing through, leaning in like a bizarre docking ship.

"Danny!" Phantom yells, more than a bit desperate. His call reminds him of the future and what will come if he doesn't stop the monsters now. He curls his hands, grabbing the power that made him King, and yanks his arms together. His forearms shake from the effort, but he holds on, willing everything to return.

The air goes boom as the portal starts dragging things inwards instead of out, as he commands the thing to call back the aliens. The ships and the few foot soldiers- lizard-looking men- are yanked right out of the air and thrown back into a new white portal.

It takes Danny a moment to realize the animalistic screaming is coming from him as the portal slowly retracts all the energy it has thrown out. He wills the portal's power to retreat into his chest, overflowing his core with energy that spins and whirls in a tornado.

He instinctively curls up, wanting to escape the pain when he feels the cracks take shape in his core. The breaking apart of the center of his soul echoes through his skull, drowning out all other noise.

"No!" Phantom's horrified screech exploded into a ghostly Wail, ripping around the mother ship, attempting to push past. Since Danny yanked the edge inwards, it pushed beside Danny instead of through him. It had turned on its primary thrusters. The rockets burn against the strain of escaping Dany's gravitation pull and force their way through the small gap in the top left of the portal.

On the deck, more lizard-looking poachers are ripped to spreads. Their screams let Danny know Phantom had wanted them to die and die painfully. The Ghostly wail was a sonic attack, but it didn't skin enemies unless Phantom purposely rolled his tongue like that.

In a sense, Phantom had turned his wailing vibrations into whip lashes at a speed that only the Flash or Superman could outrun. The aliens had no chance.

Danny peeks through one pain-filled eye, watching as Phantom's lips curl, even as the poachers are scrambling to collect their dead. He knew that his future self hated these creatures, and they had ruined Earth in two short years, but he had not realized the amount of hate that burned in those glowing green eyes.

Hate enough that when Phantom started throwing glowing punches, the ground shook. The few people the Waynes hadn't been able to evaluate shouted as the King turned off the gravity. Everything started flouting, and Danny could even spot some cars outside lifting into the air.

Phantom didn't seem to notice as his features started melting into something inhuman, sharper, colder, and green glow expanding from his pupils across his entire eyes as punch after punch hit the force field.

A few scouter ships broke away from the portal, but they were quickly swarmed by the flouting undead soldiers who aggressively sliced the smaller vessels with their blades. Danny knew why his future self hated them, not the skeleton soldiers. Maybe they just like to fight.

A loud crack echoes through the room over ghostly wails, blowing wind, screams, and metal clacks. The sound is similar to breaking glass, shattering as Danny's core falls apart.

Danny's back arches as a scream that tears at his vocal cords is ripped from his throat. The portal around them crumbles, closing at the tip of the mother ship, tearing it apart. Just as it vanishes from sight, everyone floating around the Consort can see it slowly burst into flames on the other side.

The portal slams shut just as Phantom's fist shatters the force field. "NO!"

His head feels heavy, much too heavy for his neck, as he flouts up toward the torn-up ceiling. Gravity is still missing as Phantom swims towards him; his features melt back into more human ones as he wraps his arms around him. "You little idiot. Do you have any idea of what you just did?"

"Saved...Jazz," He manages to grunt out, smiling through the pain. Phantom's arms spam around him.

"You didn't just change the future. You rewrote our fate." As if on cue, Clockwork's amulet turns into dust. Phantom's timeline was gone.

He would have also turned to dust were he still in it, but since he was outside the timeline, Phantom would now live in this one as a permanent member.

Phantom's eyes soften. "You saved more than just Jazz. I'll send our armies to kill them off now that I saw which galaxy the rats were hiding in."

Danny's shaky smile wobbles as the numbness in his body starts to retreat. It leaves licks of burning, aching pain, and he whimpers, leaning his head against his counterpart's chest. "It hurts...."

"You shattered your core." Phantom whispers, almost as if he knows the loud noises hurt Danny's head. It thumped in time with his heartbeat, sending little shockwaves of agony through his bones. "We'll have to take you to FrostBite. But I can't take you without knowing who had the portal key. We can't risk them calling the army before our men finish them off. Pandora is leading the charge against them right now."

"Okay....it was the Wayne Butler who had the key. He needs help."

Phantom's arms tighten as furry rippled under his skin. "He's a dead man."

"No." Danny attempts to shake his head, but the motion is too much for his poor shot nerves. He thinks his fingertips are smoking when he curls one hand in Phantom's cape. "He was in the containment unit. An alien took his place. I think it was pretending to be him."

Phantom hums. "That was one of their favorite tactics. I chased them across the cosmos. I saw them collect other aliens on some protected planets, so they resorted to luring people away by using familiar faces."

Danny makes the same sound, half awake. "They stripped him naked. Covered him in triangles."

"Fuck. What color were the tringles?"

"Blue."

"They weren't going to sell him as a pet. They planned on marketing him a breeding bull or an expensive meat plater for aliens that like exotic animals. Likely due to the poor guy's age." Phantom hisses, pushing a floating table away from them. "What happened to the alien that was pretending to be him?"

"Killed him"

"Good job." Phantom pats his back. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."

"Okay." Danny is releasing the few strands of consciousness when he hears Tim Drake's desperate call from Phantom's left. It's much closer than it should be, considering they were still flouting near where the once grand chandelier had hung.

"Your majesty! Please turn the gravity back on! The surrounding fifty miles radius is in a panic, and people are flouting away!"

Phantom sighs, his cape flaring dramatically as he adjusts Danny to snap his fingers. There are clacks and crashes as gravity yanks everything back to the floor. Phantom doesn't pay them any mind as a new green portal blooms in front of him, the swirling green like a calm lake surface, a welcoming difference to the zapping one of the enemy.

Phantom steps through, ignoring the cries of the humans. The portal closes on Tim's desperate "Please allow us to help the Consort!"

Strange, Thinks the injured Halfa. He shouldn't sound so close anymore. He should be on the ground somewhere.

Danny just knows they will be panicking about him being hurt. Didn't wars start because of similar situations whenever a royal visits a different country? Danny isn't too sure. His mind is fuzzy, and he's only awake because he hasn't been surrounded by darkness yet, but he's flouting near it."

Frostbite jumps to his feet with a slack jaw. He bends in a bow, stumbling around his desk's stacked scrolls and research papers.

"My King!" He cries, his eyes swinging back and forth between the two Dannies. The yeti bows again, a little more hesitant as he mutters, "And my other..... King? What is happening?"

"We need your help," Phantom tells him. "His soul core got shattered. I think he's dying."

Danny whimpers, only half aware of how serious this is. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Please. Everyone still thinks he's married to himself. He'll forever be remembered as Phantom's Consort instead of all his other talents.

Like making one mean salsa.

Frostbite makes a sad, choking whine, but Phantom doesn't pay it any mind. He presses Danny closer, and the human can feel the vibrations of his voice on his chest as he demands. "Prepare your operation chambers. I'm giving him my core."

"But, My King, that would mean you....."

"I don't care. I didn't return to Earth expecting to live. This is a command from your King. Do it"

Danny fades away into the darkness, unable to protest Phantom's request. He goes limb in the strong arms of his future self, aching for the version of himself that saw his world destroyed and would not be able to see the peace their actions brought.

Frostbite's grim voice echoes in the darkness. "This is another way, my King, but we need a human sacrifice."

"I'll do it." A third, unexpected voice cuts in, and Danny identifies it as Tim Drake before he knows no more.